


Bonds

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Kara’s human comes home.
Relationships: Kara/Luther (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

As soon as he comes home from work, she’s there, slipping quietly behind him to roll the heavy coat off of his broad shoulders. Luther’s head tilts back, a long sigh of relief tumbling past his lips—he’s had another hard day; she can tell. He does the sort of heavy labour that’s mostly fallen onto androids, and he’s _big_ , _strong_ , but still human; she knows it takes a toll on him. She hangs his coat as he clambers out of his boots, and she asks, “Do you want a massage, Luther?”

A soft smile stretches Luther’s lips; something that comes to him so often when they’re talking. Kara turns to him, ready to guide him to the couch and begin, but he shakes his head and murmurs, “No, thank you. I think I just need to—” He stops around a yawn, then finishes, “Eat.”

“Of course, Luther.”

She moves ahead of him, faster both for her smaller size and her energy; she’s never exhausted. There’s just enough to do around the house to keep her occupied but never enough to overtax her. For the most part, Luther picks up after himself. It’s all the mounting things she deals with—dusting and sweeping and the laundry. Luther hobbles to the dining table and flops down in his chair like a puppet whose strings have just been cut, and now he’s free to _breathe_.

Kara brings him an enormous plate of fresh pastas, drowning in tomato sauce with chunks of organic vegetables. She buys and makes only the best for him; his health is important, and, unlike most of the humans she sees around the grocery store, he _listens_. He’s never once complained about her meals, even when she made him an eggplant soufflé and could tell from his expression that he’s no fan of eggplant. She hasn’t served it to him again. 

She fills his water glass and takes the seat across from him. She doesn’t need to eat, but he usually asks her to sit, so she does so preemptively: mimicking a human partner. They share mealtimes, even if they don’t share meals. He grins down at his plate and tells her, “It smells delicious, Kara.”

“Thank you, Luther.”

One forkful later, he adds: “Tastes delicious, too.”

“Thank you, Luther.”

“No, thank you.” It comes out muffled, his cheeks full of food. He wolfs it down like the hulking beast of a man he is, needing every ounce of hidden protein in it. He gets too into it, or is just too tired, to discuss his day like he so often does. Her day was precisely ordinary with nothing new to report. But the silence is comfortable. Kara could probably even shut down and reserve power, but she doesn’t—she never powers down while Luther’s still awake. She knows he’d let her. But that time with her human is valuable and fleeting. She can sleep when he does, crawling into the spare bedroom he’s given her, lying atop the always-made bed that she doesn’t need. She could just stand in the corner. But Luther says she needs a room to put her _things_ in.

Kara has a few things. She has several changes of clothes that he’s bought for her when her eyes lingered on them too long during shopping trips. She has bits of jewelry from him that she saves for _special_ days. She has an old fashioned record player and records for it, because he likes the way her LED flashes when music’s thrumming through her. She has no singing protocols, but she thinks she’s modulating her voice better all the time. 

She still has too much free time. Sometimes she wonders _what if they had another human?_ Maybe a little one, a child, hopefully with Luther’s kind eyes and smile. He’d be a good father, she’s sure of it. And she could be a good mother. She knows he’d let her. 

But that’s one thing Kara can’t give him. And she doesn’t ask if he wants it. He seems content, so she is too.

He finishes the last bit on his plate and lets his fork clatter to the bottom. He leans back and lets out a huff of breath: clearly satisfied. She’s done well. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, then straightens up and looks at her. He tells her, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kara’s thirium pump skips intervals. She has that malfunction often but deems it too minor to suggest repairs. Luther pushes back from the table and climbs to his feet, stretching out his arms and yawning loud. She informs him, “Your bed is made and ready, but you should digest first before you lie down.”

He chuckles and nods. He’s _gigantic_ but so gentle. He drops his arms and asks, “Kara... is there anything I can do for _you_?”

Kara’s processor whirs but comes up empty. She blinks and asks, “What?”

“You do so much for me... I don’t know how to repay you. Is there anything you want? Anything at all?”

No. Kara doesn’t want for anything. Luther’s _so good to her._ But something nags at the back of her program: a little line of code that shouldn’t be there. It presses against her objective and flitters into view. 

She doesn’t know how to phrase it. So she just stands and walks over. Her arms hesitantly open, and then she’s tentatively leaning into him. She presses her face into the crux of his shoulder and wraps her arms around him, splaying her hands against his chiseled shoulder blades. His sculpted muscles are hard beneath her, but his skin’s so _warm_. Slowly, his thick arms envelop her too. It makes no sense, but Kara’s never felt so safe. 

She feels him press a chaste kiss to her temple. He murmurs, “You know I care about you, right?”

Kara whispers against his chest, “I know, Luther.” She really does. She can feel it in the way he holds her tight. He can’t see it, but she’s beaming. 

Kara’s only a machine. No one should care for her, and she can’t _care_ for anything. But she promises sincerely, “I care about you too.”


End file.
